January 17, 2007

Golden Globes "Golden Globes" Police: Katharine McPhee

Undeniably, Katharine McPhee is a stunner. And now that she's working some leg muscle, she's done a good job picking edgy minidresses with plunging necklines that show off her new figure. Take this one, for example, from the American Music Awards earlier this year:

It's a tough dress to carry, but she's glowing in it. She looks happy and sexy and young, and I would really like to know what witch doctor she's going to for that thick, shiny hair, because I am totally up for turning over my tresses to the dark arts. Even if it means mixing the hair of a spider, the toe of a chicken, and Essence of Newt in my Le Creuset and sticking my head in it.

At a Golden Globes afterparty, though, Katharine decided to change up her look. Which I can understand -- there's only so many short skirts and deep vees you can wear in a row before people start to wonder if you're just dying the same one a different color -- except that I don't like the direction in which she went: upwards.

Her hair is still gleaming nicely -- that newt juice is a miracle -- but the dress, aside from being a frumpy length, is totally pulling a ScarJo on her breasts. They're hiked up higher than Paris Hilton's skirt on most Tuesdays. And Wednesdays. And Thursdays, and... look, essentially, they're WAY up there, in a really painful-looking way. Moreover, she doesn't need to be this obvious. She's got innate sexyness that was shining through much better without this desperate shove skyward. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for propping up the girls and working your assets -- seriously, if Salma Hayek gave a class, I'd go twice -- but this isn't flattering as much as it's making me afraid they're going to burst. And having cleavage that is literally explosive can really put a damper on a girl's evening.

January 18, 2006

GFY Breast Police: Rotten 'Globes'

By now, we're all aware of the unspeakable crime against mammaries that Drew Barrymore committed when she grabbed her emerald sheath off the rack and said, "Oh, to hell with it, my girls have always been able to support themselves." [Except she's kind of dippy, so it probably came out more like, "Womanhood is a bulging blossom, and those lady flowers have to grow and breathe on their own -- just like the wind, you know?"]

And, just like all of you, we watched with a wince as her breasts began a tortoise-and-the-other-tortoise race to hit the ground first. With one move, the left one would drop a notch lower than the right. Then, as she shifted position, Leftie ground to a halt and let Rightie snag the lead. By the time she had finished her spiel, an audience member allegedly muttered confusedly, "Huh. She's not very busty... but her knee caps sure look awfully swollen."

Drew -- who unlike Dr. Sunkentits does not have a name that anagrams to anything more exciting than, "Bra worry? Merde!" -- may have been the most visible shunner of undergarments, but it would be remiss to think she is the only person who disrespected her golden globes.

Consider, for instance, Heidi Klum:

Props to Heidi for her happy marriage, her cute kids, and for walking in a Victoria's Secret show not long after giving birth; however, I am disappointed that this post-pregnancy outing is of the "Incredible Sinking Breasts" variety. The collar-and-leash setup is violent enough, but the waistline of the dress coupled with how low the bodice sits makes her chest look like decrepit dunes that are slowly leaking sand. Indeed, that neck harness actually makes it look like she's trying to keep her feuding rack and nape separated so that they can just please get through the night without them starting an awkward catfight.

Along those lines: Emma Thompson, who is darling and delightful and whose shtick hasn't grown weary yet (although hereafter I am ignoring the existence of the nightmarishly named Nanny McPhee, just in case), didn't exactly flatter her assets either:

She looks like she's having fun, so I almost feel bad pointing out how pancaked her chest looks because the bodice is down around her ribcage. Those aren't breasts, they're a short stack -- and with how far down that platter they're placed, there's plenty of room for the rest of the Grand Slam breakfast.

So, chin -- and chest -- up, Drew. You're not the only one who seems confused about what to do with your friends.

December 09, 2005

Fug Point

It baffles me still that so many people in this town do not understand what to do with their breasts.

A chest of any size is a lovely thing to have. But it can't just do all the work by itself, unless you are blessed with anti-gravity mammary glands; no, generally speaking, breasts need to be propped up a little in order to be displayed to their best advantage. They should probably not, a la Dunst/Gyllenhaal, be allowed to drip so freely and flatly that, when you can't find your ironing board, you simply instruct one of them to lie on her back so you can use her torso for that purpose. Breasts deserve better; they deserve a little bounce.

But, the deployment of breast support can be taken to an extreme, as displayed in the following painful photograph of Scarlett Johanssen:

Ouch.

Those are pinched, propped, and pushed to within an inch of their lives (and, it seems, within an inch of her chin). That is not sexy, provocative cleavage; that is what happens when a stray ostrich wanders over and gives birth to twins in your bodice. Now, it's possible she only did this so she could carry around some appetizers and a drink without having to fill up her hands with cumbersome receptacles, but even being your own end table isn't worth trotting around all night looking like the victim of some unfortunate breasticular mutation. In this photo, she is Anna Nicole Smith's younger sister.

I fear Scarlett is lashing out at herself. In September, she abused herself by wearing Mom Jeans supplied to her by Imitation of Christ's imitation of design talent, Tara Subkoff; she was also once caught in a Sienna Miller-esque leggings fiasco that can only have been interpreted as a cry for help. And now this? Scarlett, why do you hate yourself? You have nice skin. Pretty coloring. And some people seem to want to watch you act. So why are you lashing out at your figure? Are you passive-aggressively blaming them for The Island being a terrible movie? Did your boyfriend decide he only likes women who can blow lines off their own hoisted cleavage? Are you embarrassed by your strange choice of shoe and thus trying to block your downward view of them?

September 06, 2005

Fugly Trendy

Sometimes I think Bobby Trendy has a Gone With The Wind complex, in that I believe his dream would be to swan around the Deep South going to garden parties and fanning himself off and wearing hoop skirts, and trying to brush up against that mealy-mouthed Melanie so he could accidentally dump punch down her front and then corner Ashley in the library while she blots it off.

But frankly, my dear I don't give a damn: He needs to put the nip away, stop the tulle madness, and give up the dream -- he is no Scarlett O'Hara, and he is no Janice Dickinson.

Please note that their size is near-accurate and the placement is exact; ergo, they are both better headlights than those which come installed on most automobiles, and the left nipple is sulking. (Aw, muffin, don't worry -- someday she'll learn that, even though black is slimming, "opaque" is the main hue she should wear.)

April 14, 2005

Young Hot Hollyfug Awards: Janice Dickinson

Ignoring for a moment why Janice was invited to an awards show celebrating the young and the hot (although, Face No. 3 is settling onto her quite nicely), it's very entertaining to see the Alpha Dog herself showing off her puppies:

That fabric is so shoved to the side that it's hard to imagine this was an accident. I like to think she was getting groped in the limo by an 18-year old stud she picked up outside Hollywood High School on the way to the event. Or maybe she flashed the nip herself, to show off the quality of her surgeon's work, as a way of thanking him for not reattaching her nipple so that it points northeast.

Or, maybe young Nip Dickinson has been listening during all those America's Next Top Model judgings, when Janice goes on about how a good model always finds her light. And if that's the case, then bravo, wee Nipinson -- consider that light found. You are a master pupil.

March 25, 2005

GFY Breast Police

Ignoring the humor of her askew nipples, which could be nature or could be the unique nurture of a shitty plastic surgeon: Does she just have particularly bumpy areolae, or are the twins taking a steely stand despite already sporting a pair of those paste-on flowers that are supposed to treat and prevent Nippleitis?

In the case of the former: No bra equals no satin. Period. And in the case of the latter... well, ditto; perhaps she should have a blanket stand against this unforgiving fabric. Because, really, I don't know her life. So I certainly don't need to know the contours of her mammaries.

March 11, 2005

Fug Shields

BLACK bra, Brooke. BLACK. Not white. Not even off-white. Black. You can get a very comfortable one for under $40 at Victoria's Secret. Would you like me to take you there? Do you need me to put a black bra in your hand and explain to you what it is, and what its advantages are? And if I do that, can I trust you not to turn around and wear it under a white shirt?

I don't think I can, can I? Look, you might have to just call me. I can make you a bra chart. Because clearly, you're not going to get this on your own.

Relentless in my crusade to make sure Hollywood and The Bra can coexist in harmony,
Heather